


Homebound

by boonies



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, JYJ (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1951101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonies/pseuds/boonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Werewolves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

So [lovebyelove](http://tmblr.co/mkgbdL2hCbTnAOmoVzAVkww) blackmailed me into a trade: I wanted wig fic (jaechun; NC-17; 1,300 words; [_Yoochun cuts his hair_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1948242)), and in exchange, she wanted werewolves, so… here. Werewolves. That’s how ashamed I am of writing this, I can’t even come up with a summary.

 

* * *

 

Yunho says, "You're gonna _love_ this one."

 

Changmin says, "...he didn't love the ten you tried to set him up with before her..."

 

Yunho says, "...eleven's our lucky number."

 

And then Yoochun's instantly off, trailed by a bored _don't scare the locals this time_ from Changmin and an exasperated _you're almost thirty I'm trying to h e l p you_ from Yunho, and this is not cowardly; this is a perfectly acceptable tactical retreat, it's instinct, it's routine.

 

So Yoochun shifts, mid-run, bones bending, skin stretching, and slinks off into the neighboring forest preserve, hungry and annoyed, kinda trapped and sort of lost, and ha, if Yunho thought Yoochun wouldn't bolt on an empty stomach during a massive thunderstorm—

 

Yoochun curls up atop a wet tree stump with a tiny miserable whine.

 

Defeated, he tucks his heavy tail around his ears and snuffs at the moss and then there's a sudden flash of white fur and the unpleasant scent of a great pyrenees—

 

"GO GO GO," the dog howls, fur matted with mud, eyes crazy.

 

Yoochun lifts his head, squinting through the rain.

 

"FRIEND, GOOOOOOOOO," the dog warns desperately, barreling past, hind legs slipping on the decaying leaves, tail hung low in distress.

 

And then there's a deafening crunch and a human's just bursting through the thicket, sopping wet, scratched up, flushed and panting and intense.

 

"VICK," he calls frantically then skids to a halt before Yoochun's folded paws. Weirdly, his lips part, his eyes widen, and he breathes a soft awed, "... _puppy_."

 

*

 

One moment, Yoochun's sulking atop the tree stump.

 

The next, he's being shoved into an improperly parked car by a pair of freakishly strong arms.

 

He puts a frightened wet paw to the window, nails clinking against the glass, scratching at the latch, but the human taps him on the snout and warns, "No. Be a good boy."

 

Yoochun lowers his paw.

 

He's.

 

He's being wolfnapped.

 

A human is wolfnapping him and yeah, Yoochun could easily shift back and complain but then he'd be wet and naked and trapped in a car with some messed up human—

 

The engine turns over and the car peels out like hellfire, slamming Yoochun's head to the dashboard.

 

He scrambles back and claws at the door, wildly nosing at the seat belt.

 

Concerned, the human turns his head to stare.

 

"I'm trying to help you," he promises softly and jumps a fortified guardrail, left set of tires shaving off an entire layer of thick gravel.

 

Even Yunho doesn't drive this irresponsibly so Yoochun hunkers down, a ball of anxious energy.

 

This is it.

 

This is how he dies.

 

At last, his dead ancestors have convened in the great pack afterlife and are doling out his punishment.

 

But look, it's not like Yoochun _planned_ to bail on the mating season... ten... years... in a... row.

 

It's just that mating is serious business and Yoochun's still got things to do, places to see, ladies to charm, and there is no way he's just gonna pop his proverbial knot in some random girl _forever_ —

 

"Good boy," the human repeats, satisfied, and cards his fingers through Yoochun's mane.

 

Offended, Yoochun tries to bare his fangs because the guy smells like that fugitive great pyrenees and winter rain and the kind of gross cologne Changmin would bathe in.

 

"Good boy," the human murmurs again, fingers curling beneath Yoochun's ears.

 

So Yoochun falls asleep instead.

 

*

 

"...I could ride that into battle," the second human says.

 

He smells like cats and sadness.

 

"See," Yoochun's human boasts, drying his hands on a big fluffy towel, "I'm like catnip to strays."

 

SadCat human doesn't look convinced.

 

"So... what. You just dumped your old dog," he says, casting a wary look at the corner where Yoochun's sort of hiding behind a piano, licking the rain off his paws, "and took _this_ beast home?"

 

Yoochun narrows one eye.

 

"I didn't dump Vick," Yoochun's human insists with a sigh, toeing on a pair of slippers and advancing on the piano, big fluffy towel spread out like a net. "Vick is coming back."

 

Vick is not coming back, Yoochun thinks and then the towel is bearing down and rubbing against his fur.

 

Whining in protest, he ducks and backs up into the wall but the human is oddly flexible.

 

Yoochun is a direwolf, okay, he's big and strong and powerful. He's not just gonna take this. He may be super bad at directions, but soon as this storm is over, he's gonna buck the human off and find a way home—

 

The human wraps himself around Yoochun's neck.

 

"Good boy," he tells him warmly.

 

Yoochun stops struggling.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In his entire life, Jaejoong's never seen anything fluffier.

 

The giant puppy is roughly 90% soft black fur and 10% trying to jump out of the window.

 

...shit.

 

Hastily, Jaejoong intercepts, slamming the window shut.

 

The puppy slumps back.

 

Jaejoong would almost describe the sag of his fuzzy shoulders as dejected but that's impossible because animals _love_ Jaejoong and instantly form very special attachments to—

 

The puppy darts for the balcony.

 

A playful wrestling match later, and his puppy's sprawled across the rug, visibly exhausted.

 

It's adorable.

 

*

 

He tries to feed the puppy Vick's leftover kibble but the puppy gives the bowl one offended look, snorts, and pads off toward the door.

 

Jaejoong's deadbolted the thing to all nine hells, but he grabs another sturdy chair and wedges it under the doorknob anyway.

 

"You have to eat," he coaxes, nudging the bowl with his foot.

 

The puppy only sniffles at the air, not looking at Jaejoong, and curls up under the piano.

 

Jaejoong resists the urge to wear him like a coat.

 

Instead, he shuffles into the kitchen, absentmindedly pulling out cutting boards and pans and peppers as he goes, because he should probably eat at some point this week, and maybe print out a few _is this your dog_ posters for the puppy and the usual _have you seen my dog_ for Vick, and maybe go over his script and the café's budget—

 

A clap of thunder startles him mid-chop.

 

"Shit," he grunts, slicing through his index finger.

 

Blood beads in the crease of one knuckle so Jaejoong sucks it into his mouth with a bone-weary wince.

 

The puppy lifts his head.

 

"I'm fine," Jaejoong assures him, waving a shaky hand as proof.

 

Restless, the puppy rises, weaves around the piano bench, and drops down, back completely turned.

 

With a grin, Jaejoong bends to extract a plate of thinly-sliced beef out of the fridge. Sleepy, he tosses a few pieces into the pan and roughly four seconds later, over the sound of sizzling meat, there's a hint of footsteps behind him.

 

"I _fed_ you," Jaejoong points out defensively, meeting the puppy's eyes.

 

The puppy parks himself by a barstool near the kitchen island with a sort of insulted glare.

 

So Jaejoong ignores him, finishes cooking, and piles dinner atop his plate.

 

Attentive, the puppy eyes him as he makes his way to the barstool, balancing a couple of bottles of soju alongside the food.

 

The puppy stares.

 

*

 

"Over there," Jaejoong huffs for the tenth time, uncomfortable. "Your food's over there."

 

The puppy pauses, glances away momentarily as though debating with himself, then slowly turns to look up at Jaejoong, thick long lashes lowered, eyes bright.

 

One gentle paw touches Jaejoong's knee.

 

...damn it.

 

Jaejoong stabs his chopsticks at a piece of beef and surreptitiously sends it flying to the floor.

 

The puppy watches the meat land, then sinks his nails into Jaejoong's knee, looking exasperated.

 

"What do you—" Jaejoong starts impatiently, gesturing with his chopsticks.

 

The puppy bites down on the meat between them.

 

"Whose dog are you," Jaejoong laughs, startled, and picks up another piece. "A king's?"

 

The puppy straightens suddenly, not even to his full height, practically hugging the counter, and helps himself to Jaejoong's plate.

 

His tail wags, just once, and then he pauses, looking disappointed with himself.

 

"...I need to stop picking up strays," Jaejoong promises, leaning on one elbow to watch and mourn.

 

The puppy stops his polite annihilation of Jaejoong's dinner and guiltily nudges a piece of beef across the plate, canted at Jaejoong's hand.

 

"Gross," Jaejoong groans.

 

*

 

 

Stretched out, the puppy takes up most of Jaejoong's bed.

 

It's totally fine because Jaejoong's an incurable insomniac and isn't gonna be using it any time soon, but he's not... totally fine with dogs sleeping on his bed. Vick is strangely shy and it's hard to even get him anywhere near Jaejoong's house, let alone Jaejoong's room, but this one just nosed his way in and sprawled across the mattress two minutes after midnight.

 

_01:33 if that dog eats you_

 

Jaejoong scowls at his phone, scrolling through Junsu's texts.

 

_01:33 can I have your car_

 

Jaejoong powers the phone off and squints at his script, crumpled up in his favorite chair.

 

The play starts in a week and Yihan's going to give him serious shit if his lines are off again, so Jaejoong rubs at his eyes, briefly remembers _oh I have to make those posters_ and _I didn't revise the menu_ and _how did my line go_ but then he glances at the bed.

 

The puppy looks so comfortable and Jaejoong wants to be comfortable, too.

 

Yawning but fully aware he'll—as usual—be completely alert and awake and stressed out as soon as his head hits the pillow, he plops down on the blanket anyway.

 

The puppy startles, opens his eyes, and tries to lazily kick Jaejoong off the bed.

 

"It's _my_ bed," Jaejoong reminds him incredulously.

 

The puppy's ears twitch and he scoots to the edge of the mattress, resigned.

 

Equal parts amused and annoyed, Jaejoong pauses for a beat.

 

Then draws the puppy into his arms, curling his limbs around a mass of soft warm fur.

 

The puppy struggles because he must be shy—like Vick... like all animals—then gives an adorable low growl, scratching helplessly at Jaejoong's sheets, shoving one curled paw into Jaejoong's stomach.

 

Jaejoong's grip tightens and then he's warm and calm and asleep.

 

*

 

He cracks open one eye.

 

He's mostly comatose, slipping into consciousness the way sun sets beyond the horizon, caught between the fog of safe pleasant dreams and pre-dawn reality.

 

The door to his bathroom seems to be open, letting in a bar of soft light and silhouetting a dark figure and Jaejoong's heart kicks in his chest, but then his eyes adjust and maybe there's somehow a man standing there, pale and naked and sleepy, trudging back to bed, a cascade of long black hair trailing down to his hipbones in soft waves.

 

This clearly can't be reality, so Jaejoong gives in when the light turns off, swept back under the heavy shroud of sleep.

 

The mattress dips.

 

Blindly, he reaches out to bury his fingers in fur.

 

It feels softer, silkier somehow, unnaturally smooth.

 

There's a quiet sleepy _dude no_.

 

So Jaejoong burrows deeper and mouths at a sharp wide stretch of skin and murmurs,

 

"Good boy."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments—I'm shit at replying, mainly because instead of being like 'thanks for reading!', my first instinct is to be like 'so here's what's gonna happen in chapter four.' But... thank you for reading.
> 
> On that note, I forgot to slap some warnings on this thing, so please be aware that this story will follow the standard a/b/o universe dynamics (well, whatever I felt like keeping without reading through Supernatural or Sherlock), which may not be super healthy or enjoyable for everyone.

*

 

This is bullshit.

 

His human is a fucking furnace.

 

Yoochun squirms, flushed with infinite regret, uncomfortably hot and sticky, hips firmly pinned to the mattress, waist trapped beneath a sweat-slicked chest, hair tangled around strong fingers.

 

There's a thick scent of arousal and Yoochun glares at the ceiling.

 

Fine.

 

Fine, he'll go back home and settle down. He'll knot up the first woman Yunho throws at him; whatever small soft thing is on the menu; he'll finally contribute to his damn pack, alright, he'll do everything— _anything_ —just...

 

His human shifts, one skinny knee pushing between Yoochun's thighs.

 

"Good boy," he sighs into the dip between Yoochun's collar bones, voice thick with sleep.

 

Mortified, Yoochun pleads with the ceiling.

 

Surely his ancestors can't be serious.

 

Yeah, so okay, Yoochun hasn't been the perfect model pack mate. But neither have Yunho nor Changmin and they're alphas too and still unmated and no one's giving _them_ shit. In fact, there hasn't been _one_ mated alpha in their pack—or clan—in eleven years and for Changmin, sure, it makes a sick kind of sense because he's younger and a dick and also he'd break a girl, but Yunho's older than Yoochun and—

 

"Oh," the human murmurs, grinding one sharp hipbone against Yoochun's thigh.

 

Grossed out, Yoochun tenses, eager to shove the guy off.

 

He digs his fingers into the human's forearms, firmly, with purpose, and moves to yank him off.

 

He licks the dude's jaw instead.

 

Then freezes mid-swipe, realization dawning, tongue mindlessly mapping his human's skin.

 

The taste sinks in.

 

It sticks to the roof of Yoochun's mouth, seeps down into his chest, and tightens something sweet and oddly familiar in his belly.

 

...what the fuck.

 

What the fuck is this.

 

Trembling, Yoochun shifts in horror, willing his muscles to cooperate but his body refuses to obey. It stubbornly remains human, grows hot and greedy, fucking signals his brain to _spread his legs_.

 

His human sinks between them with a happy moan.

 

Panic rises quick and tangible and Yoochun kicks and twists and shoves himself away, tumbling to the floor.

 

He hits the carpet in wolf form, a fraction of a second before the human sleepily leans over the mattress to check on him.

 

"Puppy," he smiles, stupidly pretty, and buries warm fingers behind Yoochun's twitching ears.

 

Yoochun snaps at his wrist, angry and ashamed.

 

The human's eyes soften in response, jaw digging into the mattress, blond bangs sticking up. "Good morning."

 

Yoochun pauses.

 

Then helplessly licks the human's wrist.

 

...no.

 

No, what the fuck.

 

No, seriously, fuck this, he thinks and promptly scrambles to his feet and stalks off, bounding out of the bedroom and toward the nearest exit, however barricaded it may still be. Because this is wrong. This is hella wrong, the kind of wrong that would get his entire pack banned from the clan, the kind of wrong he probably deserves for bailing on the mating season for an entire decade—

 

He pads to a stop near the door, sniffing the mail stacked there.

 

He's totally leaving.

 

He's gonna leave.

 

Definitely.

 

...but the human did feed him and provide shelter and so Yoochun should at least learn his name, if for no other reason than to press wolfnapping charges should the need arise in the future.

 

Cranky, he noses at the pile until several letters scatter to the ground by his paws.

 

Oh.

 

He commits the name and the address to memory, suspiciously eyeing a couple of the magazines he's sort of subscribed to, as well. A kind of weird throb of recognition pulses through his body, rooting him to the spot, overwhelming him with the scent of freshly-inked paper and something violently territorial.

 

Right, no.

 

No, he's leaving.

 

Slowly, he puts an unwavering paw on the chair wedged under the doorknob.

 

The doorbell rings.

 

Spooked, Yoochun backs up into an adjacent wall, panting.

 

The buzzer goes off again, in a sort of agitated pattern, and then his human—his _Jaejoong_ —is stumbling out of the bedroom, naked and disheveled and dazzling.

 

Yoochun bites back a tiny unwanted whine.

 

"What—" Jaejoong starts worriedly, scanning the room.

 

The buzzing builds in volume and persistence.

 

So Jaejoong slips into a pair of low-hanging sweats and reaches for the chair and the doorknob.

 

The room fills with the familiar scent of angry ugly things.

 

...fuck.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Hi!" the man says pleasantly, ugly snapback sitting uncomfortably high on his head.

 

Next to him, a younger guy raises a palm in greeting, his even uglier snapback tilted weirdly, as though there's a shit-ton of hair tucked under it.

 

They're both way too old to be wearing snapbacks but Jaejoong pastes a polite smile, dread settling low in his gut.

 

He glances at the puppy hovering behind him, then squares his shoulders and ventures, "Can I help you?"

 

"We're looking for our dog," the taller one informs him brusquely. "That one."

 

Anxious, the puppy folds himself behind Jaejoong's legs.

 

Jaejoong's still a little comatose, having magically slept more in one night than in a typical week, and also, there's a strange pleasant satisfaction humming through his bones and phantom warmth coiling around his limbs, so he rubs at his face and touches his other hand to the top of the puppy's fluffy head and says, "I'm sorry, I'm not—"

 

"That's our dog," the rude one growls, pointing. "We want him back."

 

The other guy knocks him out of the way, somewhat combatively, lips stretched into a thin fake smile.

 

"I'm Yunho," he says in an appeasing, calculated manner, and gestures to his left, "and that's Changmin. We saw your posters—"

 

Jaejoong's grip on the puppy's fur tightens. "...I didn't put any up yet..."

 

"Oh," Yunho says, turning angry eyes to Changmin.

 

Nonchalant, Changmin averts his.

 

"I mean..." Yunho starts again, persevering, "...your neighbors mentioned seeing you with a dog matching our dog's description..."

 

The puppy forces himself between Jaejoong's legs, sprawling over his feet, slipper-style.

 

Yeah, nah.

 

He's Jaejoong's puppy now.

 

"There's no collar," he explains politely, fingers itching to touch. "Or tag." The puppy's tail wags once, slapping the back of Jaejoong's knees as though in support. "You must have the wrong dog."

 

"Haha," Yunho laughs hollowly, then crouches down by the puppy's snout with an intent stare, "we must."

 

The puppy just innocently crosses his paws over Jaejoong's toes, head cocked in challenge.

 

Yunho rises, grabbing Changmin's arm.

 

"We just want our Yoochun to know," he announces with a pointed scowl, "he's not in trouble."

 

"He's in trouble," Changmin counters offhandedly, inspecting his nails.

 

The puppy's tail thumps against the carpet.

 

"Well," Jaejoong offers vaguely, ushering the men out, "if I see your dog around..."

 

A heartbeat later, when the door clicks shut, the puppy's unspooling, massive fluffy frame drawing up, one eye pressed to the peephole.

 

His tail flips up happily as he watches the men leave.

 

Inexplicably bothered, Jaejoong wraps his arms around the puppy's shoulders, nuzzling into his neck.

 

The puppy's ears twitch and then he's bucking him off and sulkily retreating under the piano.

 

 

*

 

Okay.

 

Even Vick liked walks.

 

What the hell is wrong with this dog.

 

Jaejoong clipped an old leash and collar on the puppy and took him out but the puppy literally has no interest in doing his puppy business outside. Jaejoong's been standing with him by a very popular fencepost for three minutes and the puppy's only given him one _dude_ _are you serious_ look and then proceeded to just sit in the shade, wistfully eyeing Jaejoong's phone.

 

"You can't crap in the apartment," Jaejoong snaps finally, waving a frustrated hand at the building behind them.

 

The puppy makes a face.

 

And sprints for the street.

 

*

 

Four brief chase scenes later, Jaejoong hauls the sleepy puppy back into the apartment, leash and collar broken.

 

There's mud and wet leaves and the stink of approaching snow everywhere, so he kicks the bathroom door open and fills the tub and warns, "If you don't want me getting in there with you, be a good boy."

 

*

 

Jaejoong's never seen anything look as murderous.

 

But he grins at the shampoo foaming atop the puppy's head and runs his fingers through slippery fur and gets in anyway.

 

*

 

After blowdrying and brushing, the puppy's fluff factor is roughly a million times worse.

 

It's like touching a cloud.

 

So Jaejoong wrestles him to the couch and joins him for a nap.

 

*

 

By noon, Jaejoong's out of excuses.

 

Reluctantly, he grabs a stack of printed posters and a stapler and makes his way outside.

 

The first poster's up for all of twenty seconds when an elderly neighbor passes by it, hands clasped behind her back, face scrunched up with interest, pace slowing.

 

Guiltily, Jaejoong stealthily takes the posters down.

 

*

 

"I have to go to work," he apologizes, spoon-feeding the puppy.

 

The puppy perks up, one careful paw resting on Jaejoong's knee.

 

"I locked the balcony," Jaejoong adds.

 

The puppy deflates.

 

"And I'll be back late," Jaejoong yawns, checking the microwave's flashing clock. "I have a date thing after."

 

The puppy startles.

 

He glances up from the spoon and gives an impressed _good for you_ look.

 

And then he just... moves his tongue to Jaejoong's hand and licks it all over, tongue dragging rough and possessive over and around Jaejoong's fingers, eyes quickly going from curious to shocked to dark and proprietary.

 

He gently gnaws on Jaejoong's hand for a moment, fangs leaving shallow white marks, and looks strangely confused the entire time, then gives a disgruntled little whine and slinks off, tail tucked between his legs, ears flat.

 

*

 

"He needs a name."

 

His date sighs into her plate. "Okay."

 

*

 

"This is why you're single," Yihan grumbles, climbing the stairs with him. "Who the hell gets dumped over a puppy."

 

"She didn't dump me," Jaejoong defends, punching in the password. "She just suddenly had something important to do."

 

The door opens with a soft click and Jaejoong flips the light switch, excited.

 

The balcony doesn't look wrecked. There are no holes in any of the walls. No nooses hanging from the ceiling fan.

 

"Puppy," he calls out, stupidly pleased.

 

A dark fluffy head cautiously pokes out of his bedroom.

 

"...that is not a puppy," Yihan says, horrified.

 

The puppy's instantly by his side, quietly shoving between them, fangs bared.

 

"That's a fucking wolf," Yihan says, backing away. "You stole a _wolf_."

 

Jaejoong's lips part contemplatively.

 

"I need to give him a name."

 

"You need to give me a fucking hunting license and a sawed-off shotgun—"

 

The puppy rubs his face against Jaejoong's side, scenting his shirt kind of adorably, and conspicuously nudges Yihan aside.

 

"...it likes you," Yihan pauses with a blink. "An animal likes you. Is it dying? Are _you_ dying?"

 

Jaejoong only really hears _likes you_ and puffs out his chest with pride.

 

"He needs a name," he decides, fondly ruffling the puppy's mane. "I don't think his owners will be coming for him."

 

"...that's because he's owned by mother nature..."

 

Jaejoong considers.

 

Good.

 

Jaejoong can easily take her on.

 

*

 

Surprisingly, Yihan refuses to go over their lines.

 

In fact, Yihan refuses to hang out in general.

 

So Jaejoong revises the café's budget instead and meticulously updates the menu; finds it easy to stay focused on the script with the puppy watching him.

 

At some point, he makes dinner and lets the puppy subtly steer him toward more meat.

 

Sure, yeah, he feels a little bossed around but the puppy's parked himself in the kitchen, patiently observing, and a messed up tug of delight settles deep in Jaejoong's chest.

 

They're four minutes into dinner, crowded next to each other by a marble coffee table, when a niggling worry claws its way back up Jaejoong's spine.

 

"Yoochun," he says softly in the middle of a bite, testing the name out.

 

The puppy chokes.

 

...yeah.

 

"Whatever," he shrugs, because anyone wearing snapbacks non-ironically can't be responsible enough to own a dog this cute, "they can't have you."

 

*

 

_01:33 are you dead yet_

 

Jaejoong snorts at his phone, then types _his name's Yoochun_ , snaps a quick picture of the puppy sprawled across the mattress, and texts it to Junsu.

 

He mutes the reply, sheds his shirt and pants, and heads to the bathroom for a quick shower.

 

Briefly, a half-formed image flashes somewhere in the recesses of his memory, elusive and unreal, but it's been with him all day, simmering under the surface, relentless like his own shadow—a mental photograph of a pale hard body and long dark hair.

 

It's burnt into everything.

 

Jaejoong pushes into the bathroom, restless.

 

Expertly, he sidesteps the suggestion that it was a dude and starts the shower.

 

Somewhere between the shampoo and the conditioner, he rests his palms on the tiles and leans into the spray and thinks _fuck_.

 

Desperately, he tries to remember his date's face as his fingers slide down, but there's only a deep soft _dude no_ echoing inside his head and a stupid curl of want aching inside his gut so he strokes himself slowly, once, twice.

 

A peculiar kind of sudden awareness makes him freeze.

 

Panting, he slides the shower curtain aside.

 

Yoochun's sitting at the threshold.

 

Watching.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: questionable content, I have a fever

* * *

 

Okay.

 

Okay, okay, okay. It's okay.

 

Skin pebbling, Jaejoong slides the shower curtain wide open.

 

There's a fractional kind of impulse surging through him, tearing at every muscle, burning with a devastating kind of intensity, urging him to just do it, to just finish, to just stroke himself nice and slow but

 

Yoochun's

 

staring.

 

Stupidly flustered, Jaejoong grabs a towel.

 

Forgets to dry off.

 

Because Yoochun is studying him, tense and dark, almost _feral_ and fuck, maybe Jaejoong really did steal a fucking wolf—

 

Yoochun rises slowly.

 

Takes a step forward.

 

Lifts a paw, eyes narrowed in predatory silence, spine straight.

 

Okay.

 

Okay, Jaejoong thinks and steps out of the shower, dripping onto the mat.

 

Awkwardly, he covers his junk with the towel.

 

Yoochun's gaze chases the movement, eyes flashing dangerously, but then he hangs back, frustrated, surveying Jaejoong as though _he's_ a threat.

 

At a loss, Jaejoong towels off—too quickly—turns the light off, and zombies out of the bathroom, impossibly aware of his skin, shaken so deep and so hard his bones feel bent.

 

Soft footsteps lope behind him, calculated, predatory, so he plods straight for the bed, heart jackrabbiting.

 

He slides under the sheets as though seeking shelter, hair damp.

 

And because he's an idiot, he cranes his neck to check.

 

Yoochun's a dark distant shadow across the room, frozen by Jaejoong's favorite chair, bathed in moonlight, eyes glinting.

 

For a moment, Jaejoong feels owned.

 

"Yoochun," he hears himself murmur with authority. "On the bed."

 

There's a low growl.

 

"Bed," Jaejoong repeats, voice thick.

 

A soft string of halfhearted growls and then the mattress dips by Jaejoong's feet, a warm mass settling as far away as possible.

 

Jaejoong instinctively shifts to sit up and gather him close but Yoochun huffs in warning, almost falling off the edge of the mattress.

 

Distressed, Jaejoong lies back, sheets slipping to his hips, eyes desperately trying to focus on the dark ceiling.

 

He shouldn't... still... be hard.

 

What the fuck is wrong with him.

 

The sheets tug.

 

The fabric drags against his skin—his thighs, cock, hipbones—as something moves under them.

 

It's Yoochun, Jaejoong thinks belatedly, frantic.

 

Yoochun snakes up the bed, under the sheets, deliberately, ruthlessly, soft fur rubbing against Jaejoong's skin where the material parts to allow contact.

 

It's fine.

 

Shutting his eyes tightly, Jaejoong forces himself to flip on his side and wrap his arms around the puppy—it's a puppy, just a puppy—face burrowing into a tuft of fur.

 

Yoochun gives a spent whine in protest, angling away, but Jaejoong needs this to be normal.

 

It's normal.

 

_He_ 's normal.

 

"Sleep," he tells Yoochun stubbornly, pressing closer.

 

He doesn't think about how Yoochun smells like his body wash and how his shampoo and toothpaste and soap are all suspiciously depleting and how his house is somehow _cleaner_ than it was two days ago and how Vick used to leave a mess of shedded hair all over the carpet and how slobber used to pool on the kitchen tiles and how kibble used to get stuck under doorways.

 

None of this trips a single alarm.

 

 

*

 

Something depraved and desperate whispers him awake.

 

Every possible alarm has been tripped, fight and flight, nudging him into consciousness but it's instantly overridden by a strong sense of _mine_ and _wanted this_.

 

He sinks into the feeling, hips grinding down.

 

There's a hoarse _dude_ _stop_ but the hands clamped around his waist are saying _go_ so Jaejoong slides up, sleepy, sick with want and so fucking  complete.

 

*

 

In the morning, when Jaejoong jolts up in bed, vaguely embarrassed and distinctly disoriented, Yoochun is curled up in his favorite chair.

 

His ears are flat, tail tucked under him, eyes big and sad but unrelentingly fastened on Jaejoong.

 

Overcome, Jaejoong grabs for a pair of sweats and heads for the kitchen.

 

His feet pause by the chair of their own accord, fingers slipping to tousle Yoochun's ears.

 

*

 

In the middle of taunting his big sad puppy with breakfast—bringing a piece close to his mouth only to repeatedly snatch it away—the doorbell rings.

 

"Look," Changmin greets, irritated, "just give the dog back."

 

Jaejoong's gut twists.

 

But Yoochun pads to a stop behind him and takes a seat by his feet, tail wagging playfully, eyes trained on Changmin.

 

An impossible kind of hostility tightens Jaejoong's chest.

 

"Prove he's yours," he says, unkindly.

 

Fuming, Changmin clicks his tongue, lips rolled back, gums white from the force of it, and growls, " _How_."

 

"Call him."

 

So pissed off Jaejoong briefly worries about volcanoes surfacing in his hallway, Changmin scrunches up his nose, eyebrows knitted with malice, and commands, "Yoochun. Come. Here."

 

Yoochun promptly busies himself with an invisible spot on his paw, ears pointed to the ceiling, tail sweeping in low amused arcs.

 

"Sorry," Jaejoong says sweetly and lets the door click shut.

 

He deadbolts the thing twice.

 

*

 

He's out of leashes and collars but there's no other choice.

 

"Be good," he warns, hauling Yoochun into the car.

 

Struggling, Yoochun tries to bolt through the driver's side door but the lock clicks.

 

With a resigned huff, he folds himself back onto the passenger seat, staring pointedly at the seat belt.

 

Trying not to grin, Jaejoong buckles him in.

 

*

 

"Rehearsals run all day," he explains as Yoochun hops out of the car to join him.

 

The theater looms ahead, tucked at the bottom of a sharply sloped street, obscured by a mess of leafless trees and electric posts.

 

A torn pamphlet breezes by like a tumbleweed.

 

Yoochun practically wrinkles his nose at the scene.

 

"So find a nice quiet spot and don't get dognapped," Jaejoong instructs because hell nah, he's not leaving his puppy with potential dognappers lurking about.

 

Dognappers are the worst.

 

Yoochun pads forward carefully, eyes narrowed as though casing the area for exits.

 

...shit.

 

"I'll make fried chicken tonight," Jaejoong coaxes slyly.

 

Yoochun immediately returns to his side, tail thumping against the pavement and Jaejoong's shoe.

 

*

 

"Okay," Jaejoong says, takes a deep breath, and presses the pushbar.

 

The studio quiets.

 

Chatter fades.

 

A script drops to the floor.

 

And then a staffer is shouting, "HELLHOUND," and an actress is tossing her phone at her manager, shrieking, "CALL ANIMAL CONTROL," with the occasional smattering of _why isn't it leashed_ and _why didn't I pray harder on Sunday_.

 

Unperturbed, Yoochun parks himself by Jaejoong's side, head almost reaching Jaejoong's ribs and wow, yeah, maybe Jaejoong should've thought this through a little more.

 

Yoochun cocks his head up in a sort of regal, curious way, clearly amused, and meets Jaejoong's eyes.

 

Heat softens Jaejoong's features.

 

" _What the hell_ ," Yihan grits out furiously, parting the crowd and grabbing the nearest cable wire to crack like a belt, "our insurance doesn't cover—"

 

"He's a good boy," Jaejoong offers innocently, burying his fingers in Yoochun's mane. "Show him you're a good boy."

 

Yoochun snaps his nose away with an offended huff.

 

"Fried chicken."

 

Yoochun extends a conciliatory paw in Yihan's general direction.

 

Done, Yihan stares. "...what."

 

"Shake," Jaejoong explains patiently.

 

Yihan shakes the paw.

 

Daintily, Yoochun wipes it off on Jaejoong's pantleg.

 

"Yeah, alright," Yihan tells himself and lumbers away, dazed and probably looking for Jaejoong's future replacement.

 

Too bad.

 

Jaejoong's irreplaceable.

 

...probably.

 

*

 

Jaejoong's bathroom sink is wet.

 

Realistically, it should be dry because he hasn't used it since this morning.

 

But it's wet and his soap levels are down and there are damp towels in the hamper, towels that should definitely be clean and dry, and Jaejoong's favorite shirt has mysteriously gone missing.

 

And still the _weirdest fucking part_ is that Jaejoong leaves the door wide open while he showers.

 

Yoochun sequesters himself under the piano.

 

*

 

On the fringes of daybreak, Jaejoong draws closer into the warmth, drowsy and content, one arm slung over a wide smooth chest, eyes briefly focusing on a pale soft face, framed by a heavy veil of dark hair, thick eyelashes fanning across round cheeks, and a pouty red mouth that can't be real and so Jaejoong drifts off again, strangely satisfied.

 

 

*

 

"I just..." Yunho apologizes on Thursday morning, trying to shoulder past Jaejoong, "need to check if that's really not our dog."

 

...Jaejoong understands, okay.

 

He'd do this for Vick.

 

He totally gets it.

 

"Look," he replies, terse, blocking the entrance, "your brother was here yesterday—"

 

"NOT MY BROTHER," Yunho snaps then gets his shit together. "Haha," he laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "We're not related."

 

"But you own a dog toget—oh."

 

Right.

 

Yeah, of course. Two guys can own a dog together. There's nothing wrong with that. Maybe he and Yoochun could get a dog.

 

...wait.

 

"Okay," he tells himself for the nth time, "like I told your not-brother—"

 

"Yoochun," Yunho says sternly, shoving Jaejoong aside. "Come here."

 

Yoochun hesitates.

 

But his hind legs push up and then he's taking a tentative step forward.

 

"Sorry," Jaejoong intercepts, clutches the fur around Yoochun's neck, and forces him down. "Nope."

 

 

*

 

 

"Eren's gonna win," Jaejoong tells him between scene setups and Yoochun huffs, knocking a paw against Jaejoong's phone.

 

Confidently, he pats the left side of the screen and meets Jaejoong's eyes, ears twitching.

 

"Really," Jaejoong grins, amused. "You think Annie's gonna win?"

 

Yoochun shrugs one fluffy shoulder and crams himself between Jaejoong's knees to watch.

 

Seven minutes later, when Jaejoong's gloating, Yihan ambles by, casts a wary glance their way, and mumbles, "You watch cartoons together."

 

"Anime," Jaejoong defends, cheek smushed against the top of Yoochun's head, phone resting on one knee.

 

"...sure, much healthier."

 

*

 

On Friday, no one tries to steal Yoochun but Jaejoong takes him to work anyway.

 

The unthinkable happens during a scene Jaejoong is, yeah, sort of totally phoning in.

 

Mid-line, he glances offstage where a gaggle of staffers—all girls—is crowding around a mass of fluff.

  
Cooing.

 

_Touching_.

 

...which is fine, of course. Yoochun is very fluffy and pettable and charming and Jaejoong is... proud and...

 

...leaping off the stage.

 

"What," one of the girls complains loudly, access denied, "nooo."

 

"You tried to call animal control on him two days ago," another one points out, clearly in hopes of being granted additional access, but something sick and vicious blankets common sense, propelling Jaejoong forward to claim what is his.

 

Yoochun looks up, happily lost in a tangle of girl limbs, and gives a displeased _don't ruin this_ whine.

 

But then his eyes meet Jaejoong's and he freezes.

 

Roughly, he disentangles himself, shedding the girls, and stalks closer; bends to wind himself around Jaejoong's legs, ungentle, unapologetic, tail dragging over Jaejoong's crotch so hard Jaejoong forgets how not to crave.

 

Fuck.

 

Road kill, he thinks, eyes shut, heart hammering against his ribcage—rotting watermelons, overpriced luggage, snapbacks.

 

Behind his eyelids, gross shit is gradually replaced by a parted mouth, a fat bottom lip, wet and glistening, and a pair of hungry familiar eyes, and what is this, what the fuck _is_ this.

 

 

*

 

 

"I need a number."

 

Yihan yawns, fanning himself with the script. "...whose?"

 

"Anyone's," Jaejoong manages brokenly because he's sane and rational and normal. He's not a cautionary tale people will whisper about for decades to come. "Girl."

 

Done with life, Yihan drags the script down his face. "Will you shut up about your dog."

 

God, Jaejoong really hopes so.

 

*

 

His date is a groupie.

 

Which makes things comfortable if unchallenging.

 

She says _I loved you in that... one thing_ , and he says _yeah that one thing was fun_ , and then they're making out in his café, after-hours.

 

It's okay. Not great, but then again, most things in life aren't.

 

Glum, Jaejoong slides a hand up her calf, cramped in a booth and making a mental note to tell the baristas to use extra disinfectant in the morning. Then he makes another mental scribble about getting new blinds and decals for the café's corner window. Then one about a last-minute script change.

 

And then he angles his mouth, staring at his own poster, and thinks about the drive-by drop-off he pulled with Yoochun—about how he just unceremoniously dumped him at the apartment and how he contemplated maybe leaving the door open (but locked everything down anyway) and how he forgot to buy more fried chicken breading like he promised.

 

And god, there should be...

 

Something.

 

The whole day—week—there has been this persistent painful craving; a strong need for _something_ but the thing is so new and unfamiliar, ambiguous to the point of frustration, and fuck, there's an attractive woman practically in his lap, sucking his face off, and it's not like he has anything to prove, but he can't seem to summon an ounce of desire, despite his automated tornado of pheromones—

 

"Is this about the dog," she groans miserably, pulling her mouth off. "I was warned about a dog."

 

 

*

 

He drags himself home at exactly 1:33.

 

Junsu's daily _just_ _making sure you're not dead_ vibrates in his pocket so Jaejoong tiredly silences his phone.

 

The apartment's dark, save for the fishless fish tank in the hallway illuminating his path.

 

Quietly, he toes off his shoes and jacket and hopes Yoochun is gone but also please no.

 

His bedroom feels cold as he presses the door open and—

 

Fuck, what the _fuck_ —

 

A sudden movement to his right knocks him off balance and he stumbles the rest of the way in, stalled by Yoochun's ambush.

 

Flustered, he backs into a wall, unsure what to do with his hands and life.

 

There's an indignant sniff by his knees, then by his crotch, and then Yoochun is pushing up to his full height, paws bracketing Jaejoong in.

 

He takes a slow, proprietary sniff near Jaejoong's neck.

 

Then pushes off, drops back to all fours, and paces the floor.

 

Shaking, Jaejoong flips the light switch.

 

Yoochun startles, pupils constricting.

 

"Okay," Jaejoong breathes out but it's seriously not fucking okay.

 

Yoochun sniffs at the air again and grows into an angry growly mess, anxiously circling the chair, then the bed, eyes darting back to Jaejoong the entire time, flickering from confused to frustrated to starving.

 

With a shaky exhale, Jaejoong pulls his shirt off, back muscles flexing.

 

He'll just... take a shower and sleep and—

 

Yoochun trails off after him, a mixture of hesitance and aggression, then jumps ahead, blocking the bathroom like a fluffy roadblock ascended straight out of hell.

 

"Fine," Jaejoong says, unsettled, "bed."

 

Yoochun's shoulders slump, eyes averting in something like surrender.

 

Jeans tight, Jaejoong laces his hands together behind his head, and glares at the ceiling.

 

Tomorrow.

 

Tomorrow, he'll find the snapback duo and return Yoochun. He's gonna stop treating a dog like a roommate. Gonna stop being fucking weird. Gonna stop the crazy.

 

He opens his mouth to tell Yoochun it's okay to nap on the chair tonight but then he's being tackled onto the bed, back slamming into the mattress, breath escaping in a great surprised huff.

 

...and yeah.

 

Jaejoong stole a fucking wolf.

 

_This_ is a wolf.

 

Quiet, Yoochun bends his head to nuzzle, paws braced on each side of Jaejoong's ribs. He drops lower, eyes fixed on Jaejoong's, and licks up Jaejoong's sternum, sure and shameless.

 

There's going to be a chalk outline where Jaejoong is lying because his body is pure fire, a tug lancing straight from his heart down to his cock, excruciatingly painful and this is wrong, this is so fucking wrong.

 

Panting, he wrestles Yoochun into the sheets, summons all the reason he can afford over the loud protesting ache seizing his muscles, and wraps the wolf into a brawling burrito.

 

"Be good," he breathes harshly, tangling his arms and legs around the squirming bundle. "Please be good."

 

Yoochun stops.

 

The only thing poking out of the sheets is his head so he cranes his neck, looking equal parts hurt and contrite, and licks the side of Jaejoong's neck.

 

Keeps at it with slow quiet licks until he eventually drifts off, nose pressed to Jaejoong's birthmark.

 

 

*

 

Four in the morning should be about right.

 

By Jaejoong's calculations, his dreams probably take place around this time, and they probably feel so real because he's been a chronic insomniac for a decade and now that he's getting actual sleep, dreaming has become a visceral, palpable thing.

 

...whatever, it's almost four and Jaejoong may not be asleep but he's an actor—part-time—so he can at least fake sleep well. It's possible he doesn't need to actually be asleep for this. Many things seem possible at four a.m.

 

Carefully, he turns away from the clock and shuts his eyes. The light is still on, dim but obnoxious enough to irritate his eyes, so he gropes blindly for the warm tangle of sheets beside him. One hand lands on a firm bump. The soft fluff under it has been replaced with a solid warmth, sharp in places, hard all over.

 

Heartbeat on pause, Jaejoong runs his hand up. The material gives, segueing into skin, hot and smooth under his fingertips—the bend of a bicep, the curve of a shoulder, the peak of a collarbone, the quickening pulse beneath his fingertips.

 

Fuck it.

 

Jaejoong opens his eyes.

 

And feels his heart begin again, all at once.

 

Under his palm, the pulse quickens, thudding through his blood like a necessary lesson, truncated to the beat of _all yours_.

 

It's four in the morning so it's fine that there's a guy in his bed, it's fine that his hair is spilling over the sheets like ink and that Jaejoong _knows_ these eyes and that the lips he also fucking knows are parting to offer a soft resigned,

 

"Hey."


	4. Chapter 4

So the thing is.

 

The thing is.

 

The thing is, Yoochun was going to leave.

 

He meant to leave, tried to leave, actually _did_ leave while his human was out.

 

On a fucking date.

 

"Okay," Jaejoong says shakily, staring at him with sleepy worried eyes, curled on his side, fingers pressed to Yoochun's pulse point.

 

And the thing is, Yoochun honestly never thought about mating as opposed to just sex—the biology of it, the unrealistic mythical _this is it this is it forever_ —none of it consumed his every waking moment. It was total fucking bullshit, the whole need to breed lore, an ancient obsolete impulse to propagate the species and satisfy the pack, a pointless irrelevant design when he could just have regular sex.

 

Mating wasn't _ever_ a real thing—

 

"Okay," Jaejoong repeats and moves his hand, slowly, carefully, lips parting in disbelief. He runs his fingers through Yoochun's hair, above the ear, unhurriedly raking his nails through, and Yoochun's body ignites.

 

Because yeah, Jaejoong is offensively good-looking.

 

Yoochun knows this objectively, the way he knows museum paintings are pretty but would never savagely fuck one through the mattress.

 

But his body is completely fucking irrational.

 

Something in it is broken and wrong and sick and Yoochun should go home and get it fixed but he can't move.

 

"Yoochun," Jaejoong asks delicately.

 

Yoochun clenches his jaw.

 

He's naked under the sheet, slick and slippery, wielding the covers as a buffer, but Jaejoong smells like freshly-baked bread and a perfect steak but also winter rains and sunshine—he smells like all of Yoochun's favorite things at once.

 

So, stupidly, Yoochun's body wants to push him down and breed him.

 

And because that's fucking impossible, he offers a feverish, "Yeah."

 

"Yoochun," Jaejoong repeats softly, sounding strangely relieved. "What—"

 

"Direwolf," Yoochun grunts, restless, "I'm a direwolf."

 

Jaejoong only sits up, breaking contact, making it easier to breathe, and grabs for his phone.

 

"Direwolves are extinct," he says after a long beat, scrolling.

 

He bites his bottom lip with a thoughtful frown, eyes on the screen, skin glowing.

 

Fuck.

 

Yoochun wants to sink into him.

 

Has to sink into him.

 

"Well," he shrugs helplessly instead and sits up, ready to die, sheets pooling around his hips.

 

Jaejoong's gaze follows.

 

With a shaky exhale, Yoochun reaches out with one hand, instinctively, hungrily, body screaming to just please take.

 

"Okay," Jaejoong decides and grabs Yoochun's hand. "Let's start over."

 

Sick with want, Yoochun shakes Jaejoong's hand and burns up at the feel of Jaejoong's flesh pressing into his, ugly awful thoughts whispering ugly awful demands.

 

"Hi," Jaejoong continues, too casually unconcerned, voice raspy, face and chest pale, belt buckle digging into his flat stomach, below his fucking pierced bellybutton— "my name's Jaejoong, I'm twenty-mumble years old—"

 

Yoochun withdraws his hand, growling.

 

Briefly, he contemplates shifting but his wolf is suddenly greedier, dumber, simpler; he'd let Yoochun tear into Jaejoong and fucking _claim_ him and that can't ever happen—

 

"Yoochun," Jaejoong says softly. "You can trust me."

 

Yoochun can't trust himself.

 

"I need to go," he says but there's only the sheet, tented across his lap, scraping over his cock, and he can't let his human know.

 

"Are you in hiding," Jaejoong asks with genuine concern, wrapping both hands around Yoochun's left wrist.

 

Agonized, Yoochun bites back a groan and decides to just fucking play along, scrutinizing the bedroom window, even with his dumb fear of heights. "...yeah."

 

"Why," Jaejoong asks apprehensively, eyes warm and caring and fucking fuck, Yoochun wants to die.

 

"Mating season," he says and it's not completely untrue. "My pack wants..." a spark of ingenuity strikes, "they want me to pick a mate."

 

Jaejoong's grip tightens painfully.

 

"Have you," he asks dangerously, eyes flashing, knobby knees knocking against Yoochun's. "Have you found one."

 

"My pack found her for me," Yoochun manages, itching to shove Jaejoong down and spread him open.

 

"You shouldn't," Jaejoong tells him, "you shouldn't have to mate just 'cause they say you should."

 

"Yeah," Yoochun agrees, aching.

 

"Say it."

 

Pained, Yoochun tries to clear his head. "What."

 

"Say you won't," Jaejoong warns, scent thickening. "You won't mate with some random woman."

 

Breathing ragged, Yoochun pulls back and says, "I won't."

 

*

 

"You eat weird."

 

Yoochun looks up from an early breakfast, moon still shining through the kitchen blinds.

 

"...I'm a direwolf..."

 

"...you're right," Jaejoong grins from the doorway, "I'm focusing on the wrong thing."

 

Yoochun can breathe.

 

As long as Jaejoong stays out of reach, Yoochun's body doesn't think about leaving white hot stains all over him.

 

"Did you clean," Jaejoong asks, hands folded over his chest, t-shirt pulled where his wrists cross. "This past week... my apartment..."

 

Yoochun grins into his bacon. "I like cleaning."

 

Jaejoong takes a step closer.

 

Yoochun's ears perk up, spine stiffening, chopsticks halting.

 

"I was wondering why my favorite clothes kept disappearing," Jaejoong continues, amused, brushing by and eyeing the shirt and jeans Yoochun's appropriated.

 

"I like your clothes," Yoochun can't help but say, teeth grinding in protest.

 

Jaejoong pauses.

 

"You should stay here," he says nonchalantly. "Until it's over."

 

Yoochun should go home.

 

Be normal.

 

But he takes another bite of the breakfast his human made him and murmurs, "Okay."

 

*

 

"Why are they making you," Jaejoong asks, slipping a sheet over the futon.

 

Neatly, Yoochun tucks one corner in. "Because I'm an alpha."

 

Jaejoong scrunches up his nose. "The search engine?"

 

Yoochun's ribcage snaps with want. "Yeah. The search engine."

 

Jaejoong drops a pillow and then one knee to the futon, grabbing for his phone again. He reads for a minute, face shadowed by the rising sun, beautiful and fucking awful, and then he says, "...so you lead the pack?"

 

Forlorn, Yoochun drops to the futon and looks up at Jaejoong's awful beautiful face, sprawled upside down. "My whole pack is alphas."

 

Jaejoong stares.

 

"...is that good?" he asks at last, mouth pursed.

 

"No," Yoochun laughs, unable to look away.

 

Jaejoong falters.

 

"The woman they found for you..." he starts, oddly glum, "is she an alpha, too."

 

"No," Yoochun unfolds his limbs, involuntarily, finds himself bowed low and splayed weirdly open on his back, almost like some kind of fucking offering. "Alphas always pair with omegas."

 

Displeased, Jaejoong kneels down with a huff, phone clutched in one white-knuckled hand. "What, there aren't exceptions?"

 

"It's biology," Yoochun shrugs, bullshitting because it's never been biology for him, not once, "omegas are strong breeders."

 

Jaejoong frowns.

 

He rises, mouth set in a petulant angry line, and mumbles, "Get some sleep."

 

"Okay, but I'm not staying here because I want to," Yoochun shouts after him, propping himself up on one elbow, "it's just mild Stockholm Syndrome—"

 

Jaejoong chucks a slipper at him.

 

*

 

Yoochun can't sleep.

 

Alone.

 

*

 

"So where do you live."

 

Yoochun sighs, poking his head out of the bathroom. "Aren't you out of questions yet."

 

Jaejoong smiles, loosening every bone in Yoochun's body.

 

"Pack-lands," Yoochun mumbles awkwardly and starts the shower.

 

Curious, Jaejoong parks himself in the doorway. "...in caves and stuff?"

 

"Sure," Yoochun snorts because he sort of misses his house and its beautiful new walk-in tub and his high-speed internet and his much nicer piano, "in caves and stuff."

 

Amused, Jaejoong rolls his eyes.

 

"...are you gonna watch me shower," Yoochun says, too whiny, too flippant, but his hands are there, nearly lifting the shirt up, urging him to strip, to put his body on display for his human, to _attract_.

 

"You watched _me_ ," Jaejoong shrugs but pads off.

 

Guiltily, Yoochun steps under the spray.

 

*

 

He spends himself in the shower, twice, rubbed raw and strangely unfulfilled.

 

*

 

"You really thought it would be Annie," Jaejoong snorts, respectable distance away on the couch, bowl of popcorn in his lap, early morning light haloing his profile.

 

"I really thought it would be Annie," Yoochun admits dolefully, sighing at the TV.

 

Smiling, Jaejoong queues up the next episode.

 

Yoochun inches closer with each new scene.

 

*

 

SadCat human sprinkles him with holy water.

 

Politely, Yoochun shakes it off and licks one sleepy paw, squished in the booth next to Jaejoong.

 

The café smells like his human, like coffee, like bread and hazelnuts, and so Yoochun can forgive.

 

"...Junsu," Jaejoong starts, gingerly lowering Junsu's hand, mouth twitching. "This is Yoochun."

 

Junsu recaps the vial with a dejected whiny, "Why do you keep _introducing_ me to this thing."

 

Gently and because SadCat human's scent is nowhere near threatening to—nor enticed by—Yoochun's human, Yoochun nudges a plate of pastries across the table with a tiny conciliatory snuffle.

 

"...what is it doing," Junsu asks suspiciously, eyeing the pastries.

 

Jaejoong smiles, slinging an arm around Yoochun's fluffy neck. "Saying hi."

 

Satisfied, Yoochun's body thrums at the touch.

 

"Fine," Junsu concedes, unhappy. "If you're really going to keep the hellhound..." he tosses a poorly-wrapped lump to the table, "here."

 

Intrigued, Jaejoong reaches for it, ignoring Yoochun's whine of protest because it's not that Yoochun necessarily _wants_ those hands back on him but the café is... cold...

 

"Ah," Jaejoong says, voice hoarse. "...thank you."

 

With a distracted shake, Yoochun squints at the collar hanging off Jaejoong's fingers.

 

It's thick and dark and engraved with:

 

_if lost return to kim jaejoong_

 

Hell

 

fucking

 

n o.

 

Mortified, Yoochun jerks away and tries to duck under the table but Jaejoong's faster.

 

He leans his whole weight into Yoochun, locks his arms around Yoochun's shoulders, and snaps the collar on.

 

Yoochun gives him a resentful angry nip, all trace of desire gone.

 

"Good boy," Jaejoong grins, sort of wickedly.

 

Helplessly, Yoochun darts his tongue out and gives Jaejoong's cheek a quick wet lick.

 

Surprised, Jaejoong curls his fingers in Yoochun's fur, warm, flushed, smug.

 

Junsu surreptitiously uncaps the vial of holy water again.

 

 

*

 

 

The ladies swarm.

 

Yoochun ducks his head, pleased, ears flopping between their manicured fingers and yeah, fuck, this is right. This is how it's supposed to be.

 

One of the women crouches to pet his belly, carelessly dropping her script to the ground. Another one coos at his face and calls him pretty. Two more round the bustling stage and bury their faces in his mane, their perfumes soft and unassuming, and it's amazing, it's great, it's good but why the fuck isn't his human touching him.

 

Not that Yoochun enjoys being manhandled, but his human should touch him.

 

...what the fuck is wrong with him.

 

No, okay, fuck it.

 

Tonight, he's gonna thank Jaejoong for the food and the bed and then he's gonna split and never see him again.

 

"Don't touch him," Jaejoong says evenly, sauntering out of a back room, script folded in the back pocket of his skintight jeans, sending a sharp possessive twinge through Yoochun. "He has fleas."

 

"You wouldn't bring fleas to the set," one of the ladies reasons, aggressively wrapping herself around Yoochun's fluff.

 

Inscrutable, Jaejoong stares.

 

"Yoochun," he says and Yoochun stares back, weak to that tone, collar tighter around his neck.

 

Jaejoong doesn't say anything else but something hard and dirty pulls at Yoochun like a leash, so he shakes the woman off in what's quickly becoming practiced routine, and obediently parks himself by Jaejoong's feet. He doesn't try to push between his legs again or shamelessly breathe him in because that's over, done, he fucked up once but that was a momentary lapse in judgment—faulty wrong biology.

 

He's better now.

 

"Come," Jaejoong says softly and grabs a chair by the stage, flipping through his script.

 

Stupidly, Yoochun pads over and leans his chin on Jaejoong's knee.

 

"Aw," the ladies fret, slowly scattering.

 

"Mating season, I get it," Jaejoong murmurs under his breath, eyes on the script, "but tone it down on set."

 

 _Pet me_ , Yoochun projects, suddenly embarrassingly needy.

 

He noses at Jaejoong's wrist, burning with shame but somehow also... shameless. He licks at Jaejoong's hand, over and over, ignored, so he gently sinks his teeth into the soft skin around Jaejoong's thumb and meets his eyes, hoods lowered.

 

"I guess dogs do that to replenish sodium," that Yihan dude says in passing, tossing a bottle of water at Yoochun's human.

 

Bristling, Yoochun slants his eyes Yihan's way, teeth still clamped around Jaejoong's knuckle.

 

A low threatening growl slips out.

 

Yihan holds up a placating hand and moves along.

 

Appeased, Yoochun wags his tail once, bringing his gaze back to Jaejoong.

 

Jaejoong studies his script, seemingly uninterested, but his lips are curling at the corners.

 

Yoochun gives an irritated snuffle and wonders if he really is sodium-deficient.

 

Because he suddenly wants to lick Jaejoong all over.

 

 

*

 

 

"What do you wanna eat for dinner."

 

Yoochun means to say _nah dude I’m leaving tonight but thanks anyway_.

 

Instead, he lifts his head from Jaejoong's lap with great effort, sleepily blinking at the dimmed stage lights, lulled by his human's scent and warmth, and huffs softly.

 

"Aside from meat," Jaejoong smiles down at him, fond. "What do you want."

 

Drowsy, Yoochun curls up closer, snout nestled atop his paws, paws draped over Jaejoong's legs, and tries not to think: _you_.

 

 

*

 

 

"Shift back so we can go to the store."

 

With a short bark, Yoochun catches against the seat belt as Jaejoong steps on the brakes and twists the car around.

 

"Oh, right," Jaejoong muses, unrepentant. "You probably need clothes first."

 

 

*

 

 

"What's wrong," Jaejoong taunts, hands clasped behind his back with quiet amusement, practically gliding into the apartment. "You need me to take it off?"

 

Pitifully trailing behind him, Yoochun gives an indignant whine, scratching at the collar.

 

It's humiliating and wrong and Yoochun is not a thing to be owned.

 

Jaejoong squats beside him and unclasps the buckle.

 

The collar lifts.

 

Yoochun feels naked without it.

 

 

*

 

"Do direwolves use money."

 

Yoochun cracks up, following Jaejoong down the darkened stairway. "No, we barter with the bones of our enemies."

 

Jaejoong grins to himself.

 

Yoochun's actually amassing an impressive stash of credit cards at home but he likes hearing Jaejoong's voice and his dumb questions and his ridiculous ideas, so he vaults over the railing, heads him off at the landing, and prompts, "Which way's the store."

 

Shaken, Jaejoong watches him, presumably impressed, then says with an adorable playful sigh, "They won't accept the bones of our enemies..."

 

Yoochun's gut warms with affection.

 

*

 

It means nothing.

 

Reaching for the same brand of soju, piling the same kind of ramyun into the cart, picking out the same type of banchan—yeah, Yoochun barely notices.

 

He also doesn't notice how his knuckles keep brushing Jaejoong's.

 

Or how Jaejoong's mouth twitches every time they do.

 

 

*

 

A girl passes by Yoochun in the spice aisle and almost walks into a rack, clearly distracted by his hair.

 

She turns around to face him, hand naturally outstretched, expression openly awed.

 

"Don't need anything here," Jaejoong says sweetly, pointedly banging the cart into Yoochun's ass and propelling him forward, "move along."

 

 

*

 

 

The cashier has literal hearts in her eyes.

 

"Will that be all," she asks Jaejoong, fawning. She scans the last item reluctantly, not even looking, eyes trained on Jaejoong's face, scent irritating as fuck. "Anything else for you today—"

 

" _No_ ," Yoochun growls, startling the next five people in line.

 

 

*

 

 

They're walking back home, laden with shopping bags, shoulders touching, moon high above them, the rhythm of their steps matching perfectly, when two large shadows cross their path.

 

Fuck, Yoochun thinks and protectively dives in front of Jaejoong.

 

 _Come home, you idiot_ , Yunho barks without menace, hunched by the landing, tail low to the ground.

 

 _What the fuck are you even doing_ , Changmin barks, definitely with menace, tail ruffled.

 

Unexpectedly territorial, Yoochun bares his fangs.

 

Then grows incredibly confused.

 

...his pack.

 

He's growling at his pack.

 

"...wait upstairs," he tells Jaejoong, shaky, and transfers the bags to Jaejoong's arms.

 

Disapproving, Jaejoong doesn't budge. "No."

 

He opens his mouth to argue but Yoochun gives him a soft, anxious, "Please."

 

Reluctantly, Jaejoong ascends the stairs, hedging every few steps and looking back, precariously balancing the bags.

 

Yoochun exhales.

 

 

*

 

 

"It's fine," he says once they're alone, cloaked by a snowflake-topped weeping willow, hogging a park bench.

 

 _How is it fine_ , Yunho demands, shoving a large brown paw at Yoochun's chest, scuffing Yoochun's jacket—Jaejoong's jacket.

 

"It's fine," Yoochun repeats patiently, covering Yunho's paw with his hand, "because I'm coming back tonight."

 

Satisfied, Yunho nods and backs off.

 

Changmin, however, draws near and says, _You smell weird._

 

"What," Yoochun frowns, combative. "How weird."

 

_Just... weird._

 

Yunho nudges Changmin out of the way with a concerned sniff.

 

And then he bares his fangs a little, scratching at Yoochun's jeans—Jaejoong's jeans, and orders, _Come home_.

 

And Yoochun honestly, seriously, totally means to say he will but when he opens his mouth, all that tumbles out is, "What if I turn him."

 

Yunho and Changmin stare for a moment.

 

 _Alright_ , Changmin tells Yunho, _you grab his legs and I'll knock him out_.

 

"No," Yoochun pleads, grasping at one last straw. "We need omegas."

 

Changmin jolts up to headbutt him, narrowly missing Yoochun's face.

 

Within a second, fueled by the birth of this new prospect, Yoochun's stupid broken biology obliterates common sense and pack obligations, overrides everything decent and logical, thinks _I'm sorry it's like he was made for me like they made him for me they just made him human I can fix that,_ and out loud he offers, tentatively optimistic, "He's too pretty not to be an omega, right."

 

Changmin cocks his head with disdain and puts both golden paws on Yoochun's knees, growling, _Stop it_.

 

Yoochun can't.

 

*

 

"Were those your parents," Jaejoong asks softly, folded atop the stairs outside of his apartment.

 

Yoochun freezes.

 

He is just...

 

Stupid.

 

He's so fucking stupid.

 

He shoves his hands in his pockets, hair billowing in the wind, tangling around his wrists, and says,

 

"I'm hungry."

 

*

 

"I thought you were hungry."

 

 _I am_ , Yoochun thinks and pads into the bedroom in wolf form, collar decidedly on.

 

Startled by the sight, Jaejoong looks away, half-done changing into a pair of loose pajama pants, scent of a simmering beef stew drifting into the room.

 

"Hey," Jaejoong grins but the smile doesn't reach his eyes, "just because you look like a puppy doesn't mean you can sleep in my bed anymore."

 

Yoochun's going to sleep in his own bed tonight.

 

So he skulks closer and bounds atop the mattress.

 

He circles the bedding a couple of times, prowling, then curls up between the pillows, tail tucked around his hind legs, eyes slanted at Jaejoong in invitation.

 

Jaejoong makes a tiny frustrated noise.

 

If Yoochun just takes one last nap here, it's going to be fine.

 

He promised his pack, and his ancestors are watching, so he's gonna go.

 

He's definitely gonna go.

 

Guarded, Jaejoong finishes slipping into his pajama pants, bare-chested, and sags on the bed, staring at Yoochun.

 

"...it's fine when you're like this, right," he says and doesn't wait for a reply, just tangles himself around Yoochun, as though asking permission is merely a formality.

 

Yoochun's body is at once desperately interested: the man, the wolf, all of it, every last particle of him craving every last particle of Jaejoong.

 

Ashamed, feverish, Yoochun nips at the inside of Jaejoong's wrist.

 

And the thing is.

 

The thing is, nothing tastes like this.

 

Or smells like it.

 

It's equal parts familiar and devastating, so it's unsurprising when Yoochun opes wider and catches Jaejoong's wrist between his fangs, pulse pounding. Dread and anticipation pool in his gut and what the fuck, it's not like he can just ram his knot inside a human—and a male—but he wants to, wants to just drive into Jaejoong, repeatedly and without thought, fuck him brutally, tie with him for hours and never pull out.

 

"Can direwolves mate with humans," Jaejoong asks quietly, burrowing into Yoochun's fur, leg slung over Yoochun's side.

 

Yoochun's tail unfurls, roping around Jaejoong's calf.

 

It hurts.

 

It actually hurts not to, so Yoochun licks down Jaejoong's arm, dips his tongue to the warm slick crease of his elbow, unable to stop the low growl starting in his chest, unable to stop his breath from shaking, unable to stop at all.

 

" _Can they_ ," Jaejoong murmurs, curling his fingers tightly around Yoochun's collar.

 

Yoochun gives up.

 

Without remorse, he snaps forward and sinks his fangs into Jaejoong's shoulder, breaking skin, blood spilling into his mouth and even _this_ tastes like home.

 

Pained, Jaejoong hisses, senselessly disentangling himself.

 

"Oh," he breathes and sits up, turning his back to examine the damage, "oh—Yoochun—"

 

Yoochun shapeshifts.

 

The collar loosens around his neck, the weight of it slipping to one jagged collarbone, half-hidden by a cascading shroud of black hair and when Jaejoong turns around with an angry offended scowl, the objection seems to die on his lips.

 

He stares at Yoochun and Yoochun can smell it, thick and rich, radiating off of Jaejoong, tenting Jaejoong's pajama pants, calling to Yoochun on some primal forgotten level.

 

Mindlessly, he grabs Jaejoong's wrist and pulls him back to the mattress, forcefully shoves him down and blankets him with his body, hair pillowing around Jaejoong's face.

 

It's irresponsible and unacceptable.

 

And punishable.

 

Yoochun doesn't care.

 

"Your pack found you a mate," Jaejoong tries valiantly, coming undone, burning up beneath Yoochun, throbbing through his pajamas, halfheartedly pushing at Yoochun's shoulder, "Yoochun, your pack—"

 

"You're my pack," Yoochun says and doesn't mean to. "Oh. It wasn't... obvious to you. Okay."

 

And then he pins Jaejoong's arms above his head, feral, something darker than he's comfortable with waking inside him, and it's going to leave a scar and Yoochun doesn't want Jaejoong to scar—

 

"Do it," Jaejoong says as though he knows, and bucks Yoochun off, presses him into the mattress and brings his bleeding shoulder to Yoochun's bloodied mouth.

 

So Yoochun laps at the bite, pulse joining Jaejoong's, syncing up to the beat of _mine mine mine_ ; cards his fingers through Jaejoong's hair in soothing soft circles, does this until Jaejoong is slack and asleep in his arms.

 

"Not sorry," he tells Jaejoong's shoulder and waits.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

 

 

"Technically," Yoochun's voice says, "I did what I said—I came back tonight."

 

"WITH A HUMAN YOU BIT."

 

Jaejoong burrows deeper into the blankets, boneless, drowsy, unable to focus on anything but the softness beneath him and Yoochun's scent all around him and Yoochun's voice behind the door and there's nothing for a blissful drawn-out moment and then,

 

"—if it was BASED ON LOOKS, DON'T YOU THINK YUNHO WOULD'VE BEEN AN OMEGA—"

 

"...what..."

 

"It's fine!" Yoochun's voice growls, powerfully, protectively, and a deep curl of want corkscrews through Jaejoong's gut, "I take full responsibility—"

 

"...why would I be an omega..."

 

Jaejoong drifts off, helpless.

 

 

*

 

 

"Well," someone says over him, ages later, "...maybe the bite won't take."

 

Jaejoong may not know anything anymore but he knows one thing. Yoochun bit him. Yoochun bit him like he meant it, like he'd try again, like he'd try and try until—

 

"Even if he turns out an omega," someone says softly, kindly, distant and disembodied, "there's no guarantee he's gonna want you, you idiot."

 

"There's a whole pack of alphas desperate for an omega," someone else agrees, less kind, irritating the space between Jaejoong's ears, scent offensive to his nose, "and you claimed a _human_ , what pack law HAVEN'T you broken—"

 

"You have my word," Yoochun says confidently, and Jaejoong's body perks up, consumed by need, "as packmate, as tribe, if he's not an omega, I'll—"

 

"Break the bond."

 

"I'll... break the... what."

 

"You won't claim a non-omega," someone decrees and pain laces through every muscle in Jaejoong's body.

 

There's a long moment of silence and Jaejoong floats between _here_ and _not_ , searching for Yoochun.

 

"I'm not wrong, Yunho," Yoochun says with a low growl and his hands, they have to be Yoochun's hands because they feel like relief and belonging, card through Jaejoong's sweat-matted hair, scent permeating. "He's made for me."

 

Jaejoong's heart grows wings.

 

And claws.

 

 

*

 

 

"... _that_ is not going to be an omega," Changmin drawls.

 

Jaejoong tunnels out of the blankets, feverish, disoriented, sunlight stinging his eyes.

 

"Well..." Yunho starts tactfully, then seems to give up.

 

Slowly, Jaejoong sits up.

 

...what the fuck.

 

Yunho and Changmin are standing by the door, observing him with twin looks of disapproval and this isn't Jaejoong's bed. Or his room.

 

Panicked, he pats himself down and shakily wraps one of the blankets around his shoulders, muscles below his neck throbbing with the stretch.

 

Fuck.

  
Fuck, fuck, what the fuck has he done.

 

A low burn is spreading down his shoulder, pain pulsing around the bite, and there was a catch, of course there was a catch, he thinks frantically, but he hadn't been thinking, just wanted Yoochun in every way, in the worst way, irrationally, recklessly, instinctively, but this is wrong.

 

"Yoochun," he says, throat raw.

 

"He's banned from this room," Changmin sighs, annoyed, and crosses his arms across his chest.

 

A violent protest rises inside Jaejoong, pulling his lips back to bare his fangs.

 

Which is fucked up.

 

He doesn't have fangs.

 

"I want to see him," he manages, wrecked.

 

"Listen here," Changmin begins with an angry threatening hiss, starting for the bed, "you're not pack. You're not—"

 

Patiently, Yunho pulls him back and tells Jaejoong, "This is salvageable." His features harden with resolve. "We'll tell the elders you were hurt and Yoochun was trying to save you." He frowns, sympathetic. "The elders love sob stories."

 

Jaejoong is itchy.

 

Something vile is unfolding within him, rapidly, unstoppably.

 

The scents are unpleasant, radiating off of Yunho and Changmin, tasting like _not pack_ , and a sudden flicker of worry wars with a profound kind of irritation.

 

He's not an idiot.

 

He can connect the dots, as horrifying and surreal as they are. Two days ago, he was a normal dude with a weird dog and last night he was a normal dude with a fucking _direwolf_ and now he can smell scents that don't exist, see things he shouldn't be able to, and the bite below his neck is scarred over, not raw and sore like it should be.

 

But he doesn't want this.

 

He doesn't want to be a werewolf or a direwolf or whatever the fuck kind of wolf—he has a fucking play tomorrow night and rehearsals today and he just... he just wanted... he didn't want this.

 

Yoochun.

 

It's Yoochun's fault.

 

Right, he thinks frenziedly, he needs to just find Yoochun and punish—

 

"He's mine," he says instead, shedding the blanket, pajama pants tight.

 

"No," Yunho corrects, less patiently, nose wrinkling, eyes narrowing. "He's ours."

 

Bristling and on edge, Jaejoong pushes off the bed, standing barefoot, unsteady.

 

"No," he insists, exasperated, "he bit me and I let him so he's mine."

 

"That's... gross," Changmin grunts, "and also not how it works. A human can't claim an alpha."

 

For a second, Jaejoong feels a scrap of gratitude for the bite branding him but then he sobers, logic and reason returning, and pauses apprehensively. "Can an alpha claim an alpha."

 

There's a long charged pause and then Changmin gives a bitter, inconvenienced, "No."

 

Moody, Yunho tosses a shirt at Jaejoong.

 

It smells like Yoochun, like summer evenings and new cars and crushed strawberries, and so Jaejoong slips into it gratefully and asks, temper in check, "What happens now."

 

Yunho sighs.

 

"Now we wait."

 

 

*

 

 

"... _what_ kind of waiting period?"

 

Changmin scrunches up his nose with distaste. "The incubation's anywhere between one and twenty-eight days, depending on how strong the sire's b—look, I don't know. I've never seen anyone get turned before," he complains loudly, shoveling bacon down this throat, one hand clutched around a glass of milk. "Probably twenty-eight days." He pauses, reflecting. "...knowing Yoochun, twenty-nine, thirty."

 

Except Jaejoong's skin is burning.

 

A persistent throbbing heat is sinking into his bones, so bright and all-consuming he's surprised he hasn't melted the chair beneath him, the floor, the actual molten core of the earth.

 

Jaejoong stares at his breakfast, tense.

 

"I'm going home," he says and means to leave but his feet want to detour back to what he instinctively recognizes as Yoochun's room, to cocoon himself in Yoochun's things and wait.

 

Self-righteous anger bubbles up again because he will not fucking be dictated by some foreign biology, so he rises, ignoring Changmin's bored wave, and takes a determined step forward, scanning the kitchen for exits.

 

Yoochun rounds the corner.

 

There's an untouched iced americano in his hand with Jaejoong's name scrawled on the side and his hair is curling around the hem of his tee and—

 

Jaejoong lunges.

 

His face connects with a hard shoulder blade.

 

" _No_ ," Yunho growls out of nowhere and shoves at Jaejoong, dragging Yoochun away. " _Changmin_."

 

Changmin groans but jumps to his feet and forcefully yanks Jaejoong back.

 

"You told me you live in caves," Jaejoong grins, can't stop grinning, arms automatically reaching out.

 

"I lied," Yoochun grins back, straining against Yunho, plastic coffee cup bursting in his grip.

 

 

*

 

 

The kitchen window is cracked open.

 

A pebble plinks against it and Jaejoong draws closer, unnaturally compelled.

 

Stealthily, he sticks his head out and there's Yoochun, one floor below, in just a tee and jeans, backed by an ever-expanding snow-topped meadow, shielding his eyes from the sun, hair shining, and Jaejoong nearly swings his legs over the ledge and jumps.

 

"Nope," Changmin sighs, antagonized, and blocks half of the window with a rolling pin.

 

"Jaejoong," Yoochun calls out, and Jaejoong can't help but twist through the barricade and bend down, stretching the length of his body to grab at Yoochun's outstretched hand.

 

Yoochun lifts up to meet him with a pleased surprised sniff, scenting him and looking so boyishly happy Jaejoong almost misses the rolling pin embedding itself into the windowsill by his cheek.

 

 

*

 

 

"Just shower," Changmin snaps and unceremoniously boots him into Yoochun's bathroom and Jaejoong slumps against the door.

 

Everything inside him is restless, frustrated, unwilling to wash the scent off, fueled by the visual of Yoochun bathing here, of soft wet sounds echoing off of these walls, of Yoochun's voice breaking—

 

Sticky and gross, Jaejoong gets his shit together and tries to figure out how to start the water.

 

There's a shower but also a beautiful walk-in tub and Jaejoong laughs, reminded of his stupid assumptions and Yoochun's soft smug lies and so maybe being an omega wouldn't be so bad.

 

It feels distant, hypothetical, theoretical, even when he catches a glance in the mirror.

 

His scar is pink and white, shaped like twin new moons.

 

It would be fine.

 

Being an omega would be fine.

 

Because otherwise, they will find one for Yoochun and that's not... he's not...

 

It's fine.

 

Omega is fine.

 

Nothing would really change.

 

 

 

*

 

 

Yoochun's room is tidy.

 

Impressively so and Jaejoong spends an hour just sniffing.

 

Which... again, is above and beyond fucked up.

 

Far from being a cave, the bedroom is large but cozy, meticulously organized, books and games tucked away with care.

 

Honestly, Jaejoong expected maybe a couple of chew toys but his puppy is... definitely a dude. Jaejoong should worry about how awfully quickly he's accepted this fact—the concept of supernatural beings existing, of the big fluffy thing he stole actually shifting into...

 

Yoochun.

 

Irrationally, Jaejoong pauses in the center of the room and sheds the shirt, heart racing.

 

The doorknob turns.

 

"Hey."

 

Jaejoong glances at the door, Yoochun's borrowed shirt still clutched in his fingers.

 

"Hey," he replies stupidly.

 

Wordlessly, Yoochun locks the door.

 

Jaejoong's pulse skyrockets.

 

Yoochun turns to watch him, eyes dark.

 

"Ah," Jaejoong stalls, torn between fear and anticipation, bite pulsing. "Does it hurt."

 

"Horribly," Yoochun grins and prowls closer, hair sweeping across his face, creating shadows.

 

Jaejoong's breath catches. "They said twenty-eight days—"

 

"I can't wait twenty-eight days," Yoochun tells him with a low growl, advancing.

 

Neither can Jaejoong because he's suddenly not angry or confused or afraid—he tosses the shirt to the floor and takes a greedy unrestrained step forward, rasping, "Yoochun, I don't want to be a dire—"

 

"No," Yoochun interrupts and circles impossibly closer, fingers hovering by Jaejoong's forearms, mouth poised over his bite, "the things I want to do to you," he promises with a needy little gasp, shaking, "—you shouldn't be human for that."

 

Jaejoong loses his mind.

 

Wildly, he presses Yoochun into a cabinet and everything inside him sparks at the touch, blinding-hot and rough.

 

"Knew it," Yoochun smiles gratefully and palms Jaejoong's nape, wrenching him closer.

 

The door blows off its hinges, raining debris everywhere.

 

Livid, Changmin kicks at the remaining wreckage, snarling, "I HAVE OTHER SHIT TO DO TODAY, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE."

 

" _Yoochun_ ," Yunho grits out behind him, flushed with rage.

 

Yoochun's chest vibrates against Jaejoong's with a long rumbling growl, fingers clamping down, fangs bared. "He's—"

 

An elderly man steps in, side-eyeing the damage, the tip of his white beard curling above his belly.

 

Guarded, Yoochun lets go with effort.

 

Jaejoong flares up, tugging him back.

 

"Yoochun," the old man says and Jaejoong is usually always respectful but the scent is strong and he doesn't like it, he only likes Yoochun's—

 

"You know the rules," the man says and Yoochun dutifully extracts himself, hand twitching.

 

"Yes," he says, not looking at Jaejoong.

 

"And you know how rare male omegas are."

 

Yoochun flinches. "Yes."

 

"Eh," the elder shrugs and deadpans, heading out, "then it's not our problem."

 

Respectfully, Yunho escorts him into the hallway.

 

Jaejoong doesn't know the rules.

 

He doesn't want to know the rules.

 

"I want to go home," he says tiredly, suddenly sapped of energy. "Yoochun. I want to go home."

 

"Go," Changmin snaps but Yoochun swiftly blocks the broken door, and for a moment, Jaejoong wants to laugh because he spent so much time barricading Yoochun's exits and now—

 

"Yoochun stays here," Changmin adds.

 

Then Jaejoong stays, too.

 

*

 

 

Six hours into his forced quarantine, six hours after waking up to the prospect of losing his humanity, Jaejoong rolls around in Yoochun's bed like an idiot, can't stop, can't get enough of the scent, wants it on his skin and hair, wants to rub his own all over Yoochun's things, all over Yoochun.

 

But Yoochun's cloistered away so Jaejoong slips into one of Yoochun's thick sweaters and straggles into the kitchen.

 

"What if I turn out... not-omega," he asks softly.

 

Changmin rolls his eyes, done. "Then we have to find _you_ an omega." He thumps his head against the table, spent. "You're the oldest among us."

 

"...no, I don't like that," Jaejoong whines instantly.

 

"Yeah, well," Changmin shrugs, "I don't like that we spent eleven years throwing perfect matches at him and now he only wants you—a human." He makes a vague grossed out gesture at Jaejoong's body, "A dude."

 

Stupidly, Jaejoong's chest knocks sideways with a jolt of pride. "Yoochun said alphas can only..." the word tastes bad, "mate with omegas."

 

"No," Changmin says as though Jaejoong is a dumbass, "alpha women can claim anyone." He frowns. "Usually betas."

 

"But—"

 

"Alpha _males_ ," Changmin lectures, impatient, "only pair with omegas. Omegas are usually female. Like. Almost always."

 

"That's discrimination," Jaejoong murmurs, anxiety building.

 

Changmin shrugs, crabby. "It's biology."

 

Jaejoong is sick of that word.

 

Like it's not bad enough he's going to turn into an animal, like it's not weird enough he wants a _guy_ —wants him so much he's destroyed everything for him—there's a pretty big chance the guy's not going to want him in twenty-eight days.

 

Jaejoong groans, achy.

 

Stupid irresponsible son of a bitch—

 

Like summoned, Yoochun pokes his head into the kitchen, repentant, Yunho decidedly on his trail.

 

"No touching," Yoochun promises to the room but his pupils dilate at the sight, chest rising.

 

"I don't want this," Jaejoong says at once, stalking closer, "Yoochun. Please."

 

Overwhelmed, Yoochun visibly forces himself to back up against the nearest wall, hands behind his head in a kind of surrender. "...I can't undo it."

 

"I don't want—" Jaejoong babbles, frustrated, the thick scent of his own arousal filling his nose, making it hard to concentrate, "—I have a play tomorrow, Yoochun—"

 

Yoochun moves to slide Jaejoong's phone across the table like an offering.

 

"He'd die without it," he explains to the room, not meeting Jaejoong's eyes.

 

Jaejoong would kind of... die without Yoochun, he thinks and grabs at the phone.

 

He's fully prepared to dial Yihan or Junsu and get picked up and bail into normalcy but he sits down and his fingers load a browser and type in _direwolf_ _omega lore_ and two minutes later, he's choking out a horrified, "...self-lubing what now."

 

He can actually _hear_ Yoochun's breath catch.

 

"...male omegas give birth?" Jaejoong manages, closing the browser in distress.

 

Yunho and Changmin busy themselves studying an invisible spot on the table.

 

"Where—" Jaejoong starts, mind spinning, because where the fuck would a kid even—

 

Ass-babies.

 

Ass-babies, Jaejoong realizes with horror and scrambles away from the table, chair scraping against the tile with a sharp screech.

 

No.

 

No, that's not—he didn't give permission for that, he just wanted... fuck, no, this isn't going to ever happen.

 

Furious, he sprints for Yoochun's room to pack but he hasn't actually brought anything here, including himself, not voluntarily, and so he just freezes in the hallway, phone clutched in a death grip. With despair, he folds himself against the wall and buries his head in his knees.

 

Blankly, he dials Junsu.

 

"You're alive," Junsu yawns.

 

"Junsu," Jaejoong starts, sort of brokenly.

 

Junsu grows instantly serious. "Where are you."

 

"I shouldn't have taken him home," Jaejoong says, numb.

 

"What," Junsu asks worriedly, the rustle of clothes being put on echoing over the line, "where are you, I'll—"

 

"Yoochun..." Jaejoong starts and cranes his neck to stare at the end of the hallway where Yoochun—the puppy, why the fuck couldn't he have stayed a puppy... he should've stayed a puppy—is watching him, sprawled across the floor like a mop, ears flat.

 

"Oh my god," Junsu whines, "the _dog_? Again? I'm hanging up."

 

Jaejoong lets him end the call.

 

After a long moment, Yoochun approaches, slowly, tentatively.

 

"I'm going to go home," Jaejoong tells him, automatically burying his fingers in Yoochun's fluff. "And I'm going to go to rehearsal. And you'll stay here." Yoochun gives his wrist a sad lick. "And you'll do your wolf thing," Jaejoong continues shakily, "and I'll do my human thing, okay. And everything will be fine."

 

Yoochun nuzzles him, placing a large soft paw on his knees.

 

Jaejoong steels himself.

 

"I'm mad at you," he says. "Even the puppy version. But nice try."

 

Yoochun flinches, ears flattening, tail tucked.

 

Jaejoong swallows, sweat beading down his neck, the hot uncomfortable feeling intensifying. "Did you drive my car here?"

 

Yoochun inclines his head, eyes averted.

 

 

*

 

 

"Uh," Changmin points out, incredulously snatching the keys back, "you can't leave."

 

"You could turn at any point during the next twenty-eight days," Yunho backs him up, unsettled, "...although, since it was Yoochun... maybe two months—three..."

 

Exhausted, Jaejoong just wants out and so that's how he ends up in the passenger seat of his own car, watching Yoochun handle his baby with reverence, two giant wolves sulking in the back.

 

 

*

 

 

The only thing Jaejoong says in the car is a pissed off, frustrated, "You can't look like that."

 

So he unbuckles and reaches over and gathers Yoochun's hair into a ponytail.

 

Yoochun almost crashes the car.

 

 

*

 

 

"What," Yihan frowns, meeting them in the parking lot, smelling like old books and dusty attics.

 

"Sorry I'm late," Jaejoong apologizes tiredly and stumbles out of the car.

 

Yihan blinks.

 

"Where..." he mumbles, staring at the back seat, uncomprehending, "where the hell did you get _more_ of them."

 

Yunho noses his side open and hops out of the car, tail thumping, eyes fixed on Yihan with a curious tilt of his head.

 

"You know what," Yihan says, taking an immediate step backwards, "I'm just not gonna ask."

 

Changmin jumps out, too, bearing down on Yihan with a cranky sniff, rudely knocking Yunho out of the way.

 

And then Yoochun slips out and pads around to join Jaejoong, collarbones bare, tee too thin, cheeks pink with the cold, snowflakes drifting behind him, ponytail curving around Jaejoong, guided by the breeze.

 

Burning up, Jaejoong finds himself murmuring, chest tight, "This is Yoochun."

 

"...the _dog_?"

 

 

*

 

 

The rehearsal is a disaster.

 

Jaejoong's running a high-grade fever and he keeps gazing off-stage, searching for Yoochun.

 

He's so fucking pissed off, growing angrier by the second, aggressively disruptive and combative, and he's never felt like this in his entire life, and he told Yoochun to fuck off and he meant it and he doesn't want anything to do with direwolves or self-lubing anything and everything can just go to hell.

 

But four staffers have tripped on nothing walking past Yoochun.

 

His scent is so strong, calling to Jaejoong, beating out an irresistible _come here come here come here_ , and no one else better be able to smell it because this belongs to just Jaejoong, it's his, he owns it, no one else can—

 

A cramp bends him in half.

 

He props himself against a cardboard castle wall and grits his teeth through the scene.

 

He feels more than sees Yoochun start, struggling out of the shadows with a tormented kind of frenzy, but the wolves on each side of him steer him back.

 

_Maybe he's rejecting the bite_ , Changmin barks with hope.

 

...what the fuck.

 

Dizzy, Jaejoong strains his ears.

 

_I think he's actually rejecting it_ , Yunho barks expectantly.

 

Yoochun bucks them off, fists clenched, leaps over a terrified sound tech, and rushes the stage.

 

Nauseated, Jaejoong's knees buckle, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple.

 

He's going to die.

 

He's going to die because he stole a fucking wolf, because he wanted to _fuck_ a wolf, because he was a monster before Yoochun tried to turn him into one but it's Yoochun's fault, everything is Yoochun's fault, for thinking Annie can win, for smelling like home, for building a lock inside Jaejoong's ribcage and throwing away the key, for carving a solid beating anchor out of Jaejoong's stupid heart.

 

"Jaejoong—" Yoochun shouts with concern and then Jaejoong is falling.

 

 

*

 

 

_There's no fucking way_.

 

Jaejoong shifts, arms wrapped around Yoochun's neck—it's Yoochun, Yoochun, it's definitely Yoochun—center of gravity off.

 

_It hasn't even been twenty-four hours_ , Yunho adds frantically, bounding somewhere by Yoochun's feet—Yoochun's carrying him, Yoochun's touching him, Yoochun's lips are pressing into his forehead, hot, wet, claiming. _How can he be turning already_.

 

"I told you," Yoochun murmurs with quiet pride and gently adjusts his hold, one hand curled under Jaejoong's spine and the other beneath Jaejoong's knees, fingers fusing into the muscle with bruising smug proprietorship.

 

Jaejoong inhales sharply, clothes sticking to his skin, and mouths at the curve of Yoochun's shoulder, through the cotton, eyes shut.

 

He wants to sleep and bite and fuck.

 

He wants it so bad he can't breathe.

 

_He can't turn yet_ , Changmin woofs worriedly.

 

Overcome, Jaejoong sinks his teeth into Yoochun's shoulder and goes under.

 

 

*

 

 

Groggy, Jaejoong cracks open one eye.

 

His eyes feel strange, slitted peculiarly, heavy and dry in the surrounding darkness. He inhales without thinking and almost chokes, suddenly insatiable, sniffing at the black mass of fur curled around him.

 

Yoochun.

 

Yoochun's bent around him, asleep and warm, nose buried deep in...

 

A white tuft of fur.

 

Startled, Jaejoong shifts his gaze down.

 

There's a big white paw draped over Yoochun's side.

 

"This is bullshit," Changmin comments, stationed at the doorway, dressed in old lady clothes, light spilling in behind him.

 

Equally unfashionable, Yunho tilts his head, topknot bobbing, "...we're not even Buddhist..."

 

"The yin-yang is Taoist," Changmin growls out, snapping at Yunho.

 

Dazed, Jaejoong lifts a paw and stares at the soft pink pads and the expanse of white blending into Yoochun's black fur and Jaejoong's tail—he has a tail, an actual tail—wags. It wags like fucking crazy at the sight of Yoochun napping and Jaejoong is mad, he's definitely mad at Yoochun, he's so mad, but he doesn't know how to control this.

 

His tail thumps against the blankets, then covers Yoochun, and Yoochun gives a soft sleepy whine and Jaejoong's mouth hurts because he has fucking fangs now and they're sharp and all he knows is _I found this it's_ _mine_ so he sticks his muzzle in Yoochun's mane with a greedy hungry sniff and roughly clamps down on the ridged back of Yoochun's neck, intent to claim, because Yoochun is his and everyone should _know_.

 

"You can't," Yunho says, sounding sad.

 

Sorry, Changmin adds, "Alpha."


End file.
